Work Text:
It starts the summer Ilya moves to Boston. He arrives in North America in July with little more than the contact information of someone with the Boston Raiders who is going to help get him set up in a starter apartment. He’s picked up at the airport by a woman in a business suit who tries to make small talk he barely understands. He has never been happier.
The fact that within two weeks he’s in Toronto shooting a commercial for CCM with Shane Hollander is another sign of just how much his life has changed.
Sure. He managed to suggest to the woman who was organizing the ad campaign that he was looking forward to a career of playing against Hollander, and that maybe their rivalry would make for an interesting shoot one day. It wasn’t a surprise when the next day his agent got an email asking if he’d be okay sharing this first major sponsorship moment with the man who just beat him at world juniors.
He told himself it would be a good career move. Sure, back in Russia he spent hours searching the internet for information on Hollander. He’s not obsessed. That would be stupid. He’s just studying the only player who has ever given him a challenge.
So what if his freckles remind him of the stars his mother used to point to in the night sky or that his eyes are like pools of the finest chocolate.
He’s only interested in Hollander because the sports world calls him a generational talent. It’s the same phrase they use for Ilya. He can’t let that stand. He needs to be the best, and he’s already on his way. He’s the number one draft pick. He has sponsorship deals. He will be spending most of the year outside of Russia, far from his father and brother. As long as he keeps winning they will be happy. If he is the best, maybe they will leave him alone.
Yes, he makes some dangerous decisions the night of the commercial shoot. He’s never been shy about sex, and he’s been aware of his attraction to men for a couple of years now, but even he knows better than to approach a fellow player in a locker room shower. Still, that night is seared into his mind like a brand and now weeks later he’s in Boston with his terrible accent and broken English struggling through his first MLH training camp.
He trains endlessly. He’s young and cocksure. He will push his body as far as humanly possible for this team that has given him a chance at a life out from under his father’s thumb. By the time the pre-season starts he’s both exhausted and so drunk on the freedom of being on his own that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
So when he’s out for his morning run and sees a man a few inches shorter than him with ink black hair and an athlete’s build he stumbles.
Hollander.
He wants to run to him, tap his shoulder and throw his arms around him. He wants to ask him if things in Montreal are also wonderful and confusing. And sure, maybe he would also like to know if sometimes he thinks of Ilya like how Ilya thinks of him in the middle of the night.
But then the man turns around and it’s just some guy in a Patriot’s shirt. Ilya resumes his jog at a punishing pace. Maybe if he runs far enough he can pretend he isn’t seeing things that are not there.
---
The next time it happens he’s made a name for himself. It hasn’t taken long, at least not in Boston. He’s the main reason the Raiders are no longer the laughing stock of the league. He has more sponsors and women in every city. He has Shane a half a dozen times a year.
He tries not to think about how those fleeting times with Shane make him feel more than anything else he experiences all year.
He’s in Russia for the summer. His favorite things about his home in Boston feel like a dream. It didn’t take long for America to become home. Moscow is no longer a place he knows, not really. Ilya is only here for six weeks. It’s the longest he can stand to be around family while still being a respectful son. Some days he feels lucky there are still spots that remind him of his mother. Those are the places where he feels safe, like there might still be peace left in this city.
It helps that those places, like the pond with all the turtles, are places Alexi and his father will never go. He is free to spend a few hours sitting outside watching the people walk by. Or maybe he uses the time to check his phone. It’s late evening, one of the few periods of time where it is still early enough for him to talk to his people back in North America and late enough there to expect a response. He misses his people back home, because that is what Boston has become for him. It’s certainly no longer this place where he is always on edge and nobody respects him.
He misses Cliff, who is spending the summer trying to find the best lobster roll in New England, and Svetlana, who flew back to Boston two weeks ago and is now living her best life, weekending on Cape Cod and crashing celebrity parties in Newport.
And then there is Shane. Every time he sees the name Jane in his notifications his heart skips a beat. Maybe when he gets back to work he’ll have the team doctor check that out. There’s no reason for him to react this way to a text message. Especially not ones that are somehow snarky and blunt at the same time.
Hollander has always been terrible at flirting. Still, he’ll take this, the quips about off season training and comments about clubs over the silence he forced a year ago.
So today he waits by the pond his mother loved. It’s getting late. Most people have already made their way home for dinner, but he’s still here checking his phone and watching the dwindling people wander past.
One of those people is wearing Reebok sneakers and a pair of track pants so familiar Ilya’s breath hitches.
Shane.
He almost doesn’t notice the slight curl to the man’s hair or that it’s several shades to light. Not when all he wants is to lose himself in the only body he knows better than his own.
By the time he realizes the man cannot be his rival he’s been caught staring. He nods curtly before returning to his phone and opening a thread he has read a million times.
Lily
How is summer in boring Canada?
It’s stupid. Desperate even to text him from Russia. Here he isn’t supposed to want things. It doesn’t stop him from staring at his phone so hard he thinks he wills the next notification into existence.
Jane
Perfect. Relaxing. No asshole’s here.
It’s not much, but he’ll take it. He’ll take anything Shane will give him.
---
Ilya has never cared what the tabloids say. At least he doesn’t care what they say about him. Sometimes they like to report on the minor celebrities he runs into at clubs across the US. He’s welcome in VIP sections in every city that has an arena. He’s never minded when they write about him leaving with a new, nameless woman, or make a comment on his choice of clothes.
He looks good, and his partners are always willing and always aware that this will be a one time occasion.
Then, the websites that used to find a reason to talk about Ilya Rozanov and his string of satisfied lovers are filled with photos of Rose Landry in a Montreal Metros jersey.
Those are the photos he sees when he’s lucky. There are also the ones of her and Shane curled up in a lounge in Montreal, or laughing out in the daylight on a public street. He can’t open his phone without seeing a picture of the two of them holding hands.
He is bracing himself for the day there is inevitably a photo of the two of them kissing. Or worse, a headline announcing their engagement.
It might kill him. It would be the final blow. He was already half dead the day Shane Hollander ran away because Ilya was careless enough to use his first name.
He sees Shane everywhere now. Every pair of brown eyes could be his. Every person with freckles is like a punch. God forbid he runs into someone at the gym wearing Hollander’s favorite brand of athletic gear.
He’s at his favorite coffee shop the next time it happens. It’s a week before the All Star Game. It’s been three months since he last played the Metros. Three months since he last saw Shane’s face. He’d tried to avoid it, but it was impossible when playing a full game of hockey. He also doesn’t look at TMZ anymore. He barely checks ESPN.
Unless it’s the middle of the night. Then all bets are off. Seeing photos of Shane with Rose is like salt in an open wound, but he can’t help himself, not at three in the morning. Sometimes, when he has enough forethought he’ll head to the gym and then leave his phone on the other side of the room. He’ll put on reruns of some terrible American sitcom and push his body until the point of near collapse.
Those nights have become commonplace, and this morning he needs an industrial sized coffee and a bottle of ibuprofen for the way his legs burn. Instead he is forced to wait in line behind a man with freshly cut hair that falls exactly like Shane’s. His collagen is familiar and it makes his eyes burn. Even the bomber jacket is familiar. He wants to reach out and touch the man. Alternatively, he wants to run away. Only he still needs coffee.
He still needs Shane.
By now he knows better. He knows the Metros are in Toronto. He still makes an effort to keep himself directly behind the man. Then he can at least pretend, even for a fraction of a second that Shane is in front of him, that somehow he is in his Back Bay neighborhood in his favorite coffee shop, he can fool himself into thinking that he would come back.
If he can let himself believe the man in front of him is Shane then he can believe that just maybe, in some alternate universe, he is worthy of his love.
---
Shane did come back to him. He held him in Tampa while he cried about his sick father and hostile homeland. He likes Ilya. He was clear about that.
That fact scares Ilya to death. This was never supposed to involve feelings. He’s lied to himself for years and forced all that love into a box he keeps locked tight inside his chest. Shane’s chipped away at that lock through endless texts. He took a battle axe to it when he made himself a lifeboat for Ilya’s grief when he was in Russia.
Every new message, each meet up feeds him and kills him in equal measure. They can’t keep going like this, but Ilya isn’t sure he can give it up.
He’s tried a million different times over the years. Now they’re flying too close to the sun and every time they talk he knows it needs to be the end. If this doesn’t ruin Ilya’s life it will for sure ruin Shane’s. Neither of them talk about what they really want. It would be an act of futility. There is no space in the MLH for men like them.
Then Shane got hurt.
He should have ended things before now. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like his chest has been ripped in two. Not even seeing him at the Hospital helped.
That’s a lie. It helped a little. Seeing him alive and moving shifted something in Ilya. It seems that Shane is always doing that to him. Now he doesn’t know how he will breathe without being sure he is safe and healing, but also he doesn’t know how he can continue to live feeling this way.
He’s vulnerable for the first time in his life. His father, dead only a few months, would call him weak. His brother would sling a dozen slurs at him and then ask for money. And Shane, well, Shane would look at him and say “I like you a little too much,” and “would you come to my cottage this summer?” because he is the bravest person Ilya has ever met.
His concussion means they're limited to texting once, then twice a day. Slowly Shane builds up his screen time. Unfortunately, it coincides with Ilya’s playoff run.
He loves hockey. He loves to win. Unfortunately right now he also loves Shane. He’d love to tie him in Stanley Cups this year, but the victory would still feel hollow. The Metros were out in the first round. They were swept in a series that was so embarrassing he secretly hopes Shane wasn’t able to watch any of it.
And during all of it Shane’s invitation to his cottage hangs in the air, torturing him with the possibility of two uninterrupted weeks with a man he loves so much he is afraid it might kill him.
The idea of going is terrifying, but so is the thought of disappointing Shane. He’s done that far too often in the seven years they’ve been something to one another. The question will have to hang in limbo until he has a clear enough mind to answer. That can’t happen while he’s still playing hockey.
During the first game of the second round of the playoffs Ilya is slammed into the boards so hard he sees stars. For a moment he’s afraid he can’t breathe, but then he realizes as long as he takes shallow breaths the shooting pain that makes him feel like he’s dying is almost manageable, at least it’s manageable while there is a racehorse’s worth of adrenaline running through his body.
It’s not his choice when his coach pulls him from the game. They’re already up two goals late in the third when he’s forced back into the medical room. He already knows what this is. He’s had bruised ribs before. They’re not fun. Tonight’s hit was especially hard.
He’s sent home while the rest of the team is busy handling post game media with direct orders to lie low and recover until their next game in two days.
He’s angry and in pain, and honestly has never liked being told what to do. So instead of going home Ilya stops at a late night ice cream stand by his house. It’s 10 pm on a weeknight in the early weeks of May, so he’s a little surprised when there’s a line. All he wants is some cookies and cream in a waffle cone. Instead he’s stuck behind a group of guys that look like they’ve just left tonight’s Red Sox games.
Only, one of them has strong, broad shoulders. His hair is messy the way Shane’s usually gets during the playoffs, and in the dark Ilya can make himself believe it’s the right shade of black.
When he turns the man even has freckles.
Fuck this. He doesn’t need ice cream. He should just go home and rest.
He turns and grabs his phone out of his pocket. It’s easier to not look back if he is busy scrolling through his notifications. Ever since his father died there are fewer of them. Blocking his brother's number probably helped with that. Tonight there are only three. One from Svetlana telling him to get his ass back in the game, one from Shannon, Boston's head WAG, offering to bring him soup to aid in his recovery, and one from the only person he ever wants to hear from.
Jane
That hit looked bad. Are you okay?
He smiles. Shane is at his parents house, not here at an ice cream shop in Back Bay. He’s somewhere in Canada watching playoff hockey while wearing sunglasses to protect his wonderful, perfect brain.
Lily
Will be fine.
The next few games are going to suck, but it isn’t the first time he’s played injured. He isn’t even going to be the person in the worst shape on the Raiders. He will be the only one injured going home to an empty house.
Jane
Whatever you say, Lily.
I wish I could be there with you
His breath catches. It’s probably from the injury. It’s certainly not because Shane continues to lay his heart bare.
Lily
Me too
---
Ottawa is boring. He knew this would be the case when he agreed to move here. He didn’t transfer teams for the nightlife.
Being in Ottawa is supposed to make it easier for him to see Shane. Sometimes their plan even works. They now go weeks instead of months without seeing each other. Sometimes, if they’re lucky, they even get multiple days together.
Their time together is precious. Ilya protects it with his life. He skips team dinners and bar nights. A few weeks ago Wyatt Hayes organized an outing for everyone to see the latest superhero movie. Ilya had seen the trailer and thought that it looked like a fun time. He’d love to get a big tub of popcorn and throw in a large box of M&Ms as a treat. He thought it would be a good time, but Shane had a rare night off and Ilya only had a couple morning practices over the next few days.
Of course they would be spending the time together.
That afternoon Ilya gets a call. Shane sounds terrible. They’ve been exclusive for three years now and together for more than a decade and in all that time Ilya has never heard him sound more ill. He wants to get in his car immediately, practice be damned, and take care of his boyfriend. Instead, Shane insists he stay in Ottawa so they don’t both come down with the same miserable cold.
“Go out with your team,” he croaks out, “have fun.”
He wants to tell Shane that he doesn't think that is possible. The only thing keeping him going right now is their calendar full of scheduled visits and nightly phone calls.
Instead he says “okay” and wishes his boyfriend a speedy recovery before ordering him a tub of soup delivered right to his door.
That night the movie theater is packed. Unfortunately for him a group of professional hockey players is hardly inconspicuous, especially in a city as hockey obsessed as Ottawa. He, Barrett, and Boodram spend their entire time in line signing autographs and taking pictures with fans while Hayes chats excitedly away to anyone who will listen about some superhero named Pigeon Glory.
It is a small mercy that the crowd keeps Ilya from his seat for as long as possible. He ends up two seats from the end of a row between Barrett and a complete stranger. If he wasn’t sad about boyfriend he’d be loud. He’d elbow Troy and make jokes to Bood at the other side of the row. Sure, he’d be obnoxious, but he has a reputation to protect.
Instead he stuffs his face with popcorn and chocolate while sitting next to a man who is a carbon copy of his boyfriend. At least he looks that way in the dark.
He wants to crawl out of his skin. He could never go to a movie theater with Shane. Even in the safety of the dark there would be too much risk. If they wanted to see this stupid superhero movie together they’d have to wait for it to come to a streaming service and then plan one of their rare nights together to watch. There would be no overpriced popcorn or box of M&M’s.
In the middle of a fight scene he sneaks out of the theater. The bathroom is deserted. Ilya relishes in the quiet and splashes some water on his face. He could text Shane, check in and see how he was feeling, but he’s supposed to be watching a movie with his teammates.
He is supposed to be having fun.
Instead he is sitting next to a man who looks enough like Shane to pull at Ilya’s heart.
He doesn’t remember how the movie ends. He speeds home. It doesn’t matter. By the time he calls Shane he is already asleep.
---
The house is quiet. It won’t be this way for long. In a few hours their yard will be full with teammates, friends, and family. Ilya never thought this day would never come. It was hard to let himself hope for this while they were both hiding so deep in the closet that it was more likely they’d find Narnia than an open and happy life together.
Now two identical jerseys hang in the closet in their bedroom. They have matching Centaurs hats, and Shane now wears a gold chain around his neck so similar to Ilya’s it makes him smile.
In just a few hours they will put on a pair of bespoke suits and exchange rings in front of everyone they love.
Ilya can’t fucking wait.
There will be no more weeks spent sleeping kilometers apart. They will never again need to spend hours comparing calendars just to find a few days where they could be in the same space.
It didn’t matter that when Ilya woke up Shane’s side of the bed was empty. It no longer feels like a loss when the love of his life is awake before him. They were done stealing moments together. Today they will become husbands, and this upcoming season they will be teammates. No one can force them apart again. His permanent residence has been approved and now there is no longer even the fear of Russia to haunt them.
They promised themselves a quiet morning. David and Yuna will be coming by later to help with final preparations. For now, the house is theirs.
Ilya bounds down the stairs, giddy as all hell. He’s getting married today. Today he is marrying Shane Hollander. Later there will be people at their home celebrating their love.
They are no longer hiding in the shadows.
Today is the first day of the rest of his life.
When he gets to the kitchen he finds inky black hair tousled from sleep and tired, happy eyes covered by a pair of glasses that Ilya loves. There are prominent freckles from days in the summer sun and a small, tired smile plastered on to lips that are still a little plump from a night of kissing and other activities.
He knows this man is his Shane. After years of looking for him in every stranger he is here with Ilya forever.